Oh, how have I not blogged about this sooner?
Did anyone else catch the last 5 minutes of Today Tonight before Home and Away started (yes, clearly I have my priorities sorted) and happen to catch that thing about Ivan Milat and another dead body being found in the Belangelo State Forest?
Let me say that again.
IVAN MILAT. And ANOTHER BODY. In the BELANGELO STATE FOREST.
...
Alright.
Everyone's thinking it, I'm just gonna say it: IS IVAN MILAT VOLDEMORT'S TWIN, OR WHAT? I mean come ON! The man is two hundred years old. And he's been in prison for what, half that time? HOW IS HE STILL KILLING PEOPLE??
Okay, and yes, I know. It's not that he's still killing people, it's just that they haven't found all the people he killed before they caught him yet. I'm smart enough to have figured that out. Not smart enough to realise that Voldemort isn't actually real, but hey, you can't win every battle. That doesn't worry me. No, what I'm actually concerned about is that my second thought when I first saw this news piece (I mean, AFTER the whole Ivan/Voldemort comparison) was something along the lines of Hey, weren't you voted Most Likely To Be Killed By Ivan Milat in high school? Huh? Wasn't that you, Jacqueline Sarah Trew? Wasn't it? Closely followed by my third thought, which went a little like this: Aww, shit.
If there is a worse way to die than being slaughtered by Ivan Milat, I'd like to know about it. I'm sorry, did I say 'know about'? What I really meant was 'volunteer for'. Anything, anything is better than death-by-Ivan. Fire? No problem. Suffocation? Whatever. Sharks? No big deal. I would literally soak my legs overnight in a soy sauce marinade and offer them to the next Great White I came across if it meant avoiding an encounter with Ivan Milat. That sounds crazy, right? WRONG. It doesn't sound crazy. And if you disagree with me, then you are an idiot who has clearly never sat through Wolf Creek. Watch that - then get back to me.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Don't Call Me Ma'am
Initially, I wasn't going to blog about this because I thought it might get me in trouble. But hey. It's my day off, I'm bored, I'm waiting for Home and Away to start, and (let's be honest) I'm the kind of idiot who doesn't care about trouble, as long as it gives her a laugh.
So here we go.
This probably sounds weird coming from someone who works in hospitality/publishes her every thought on a public blog/craves human attention/is thinking about starting a hug schedule with her friends...but sometimes I hate people. Well...hate is such a strong word. So maybe I don't hate them as much as I want to punch them repeatedly in the groin every 8 seconds for the next 14 years. It's not all the time. In fact, I hardly ever hate people at all. But sometimes, maybe twice a year, I'll have a day where I come across someone who is enough of an asshole that I would gladly stab myself in the face with a blunt pencil just to avoid all interaction with them.
Today was that day.
Being that The Navy Man is very busy saving the world, and I am a lowly hairdresser's assistant's assistant, today I had some errands to run that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the Naval Uniform store on Cowper Wharf Rd. Also known as 'Glendinnings Menswear'. Yes. I don't understand the name, and I'm not going to pretend that I want to. It is what it is. Anyway, the whole escapade started off well enough, mostly due to the fact that I somehow managed to navigate myself all the way there without getting lost ONCE. AND I found a parking spot within 5 minutes. From the moment I walked through the door, though, it all went downhill. Because this was me:
Jacki: Good morning!
And this was the facial expression of every dude in that place:
Ha.
Haha.
To be fair, I don't exactly look like the kind of girl who belongs in a Naval Uniform store. But to be even fairer, these guys were total dicks. It took me almost 20 minutes to convey that all I needed was a white officer's shirt and a replacement badge for one of NM's hats (which I even offered to pay for, EVEN THOUGH it was a REPLACEMENT for the BROKEN badge they had already given him), and another 20 for the guy behind the counter to figure out how the eftpos machine operated. And then, just when I thought the horror was over, this happened:
Dude: Anything else?
Jacki: Oh yeah. My boyfriend asked if you could pin the new badge onto the hat for him.
Dude: Sorry ma'am, can't do it. It just pins on. If your boyfriend can't figure out how to do it, he shouldn't be in the Navy.
Okay.
First of all dude, you are a hundred years old. Don't call me ma'am. Second of all, if it's that easy, why can't you do it for him? And third, kindly shove your head up your ass. The only reason you work in this store is because YOU weren't smart enough to actually be in the Navy. 20 minutes to work out the eftpos? Give me a break.
I don't know why this is getting me all riled up. I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for my dinner to be ready than anything else. I've also had quite a bit of sugar today. I've just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. And I kind of have to pee. Still, there was one positive thing amongst this whole mess, and that's that the badge they gave me to replace NM's broken one? Was also broken. Which I know doesn't sound like a positive thing...but now I can say that even though I spent all afternoon trying to fix it myself and at one point accidentally super-glued my hand to the couch, I'm still smarter than the uniform store guy.
And that's something.
So here we go.
This probably sounds weird coming from someone who works in hospitality/publishes her every thought on a public blog/craves human attention/is thinking about starting a hug schedule with her friends...but sometimes I hate people. Well...hate is such a strong word. So maybe I don't hate them as much as I want to punch them repeatedly in the groin every 8 seconds for the next 14 years. It's not all the time. In fact, I hardly ever hate people at all. But sometimes, maybe twice a year, I'll have a day where I come across someone who is enough of an asshole that I would gladly stab myself in the face with a blunt pencil just to avoid all interaction with them.
Today was that day.
Being that The Navy Man is very busy saving the world, and I am a lowly hairdresser's assistant's assistant, today I had some errands to run that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the Naval Uniform store on Cowper Wharf Rd. Also known as 'Glendinnings Menswear'. Yes. I don't understand the name, and I'm not going to pretend that I want to. It is what it is. Anyway, the whole escapade started off well enough, mostly due to the fact that I somehow managed to navigate myself all the way there without getting lost ONCE. AND I found a parking spot within 5 minutes. From the moment I walked through the door, though, it all went downhill. Because this was me:
Jacki: Good morning!
And this was the facial expression of every dude in that place:
Ha.
Haha.
To be fair, I don't exactly look like the kind of girl who belongs in a Naval Uniform store. But to be even fairer, these guys were total dicks. It took me almost 20 minutes to convey that all I needed was a white officer's shirt and a replacement badge for one of NM's hats (which I even offered to pay for, EVEN THOUGH it was a REPLACEMENT for the BROKEN badge they had already given him), and another 20 for the guy behind the counter to figure out how the eftpos machine operated. And then, just when I thought the horror was over, this happened:
Dude: Anything else?
Jacki: Oh yeah. My boyfriend asked if you could pin the new badge onto the hat for him.
Dude: Sorry ma'am, can't do it. It just pins on. If your boyfriend can't figure out how to do it, he shouldn't be in the Navy.
Okay.
First of all dude, you are a hundred years old. Don't call me ma'am. Second of all, if it's that easy, why can't you do it for him? And third, kindly shove your head up your ass. The only reason you work in this store is because YOU weren't smart enough to actually be in the Navy. 20 minutes to work out the eftpos? Give me a break.
I don't know why this is getting me all riled up. I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for my dinner to be ready than anything else. I've also had quite a bit of sugar today. I've just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. And I kind of have to pee. Still, there was one positive thing amongst this whole mess, and that's that the badge they gave me to replace NM's broken one? Was also broken. Which I know doesn't sound like a positive thing...but now I can say that even though I spent all afternoon trying to fix it myself and at one point accidentally super-glued my hand to the couch, I'm still smarter than the uniform store guy.
And that's something.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Longest Pause Yet
Here's a question: When did 'gmail' become popular? Huh? Is this just me? Am I so behind the times that everyone else bailed on hotmail and I didn't notice? When did this happen? Where was I? And don't you dare say probably in the midst of a four-hour Prison Break marathon, because I haven't done one of those in at LEAST two months.
Apart from last Sunday, that is.
But still! Gmail? Really? And here's how I know: every new client that comes into Toni&Guy has to fill out a personal detail questionnaire. I, being the lowly assistant-who-isn't-really-an-assistant-on-account-of-the-fact-that-she's-openly-looking-for-another-job, get the wonderful task of entering all these details into the computer. And I don't wanna make it seem like the kind of loser who stands around counting the number of gmail users VS the number of hotmail users...but lets just say if I had a dollar for every gmail address I've typed, I'd have eight hundred and twenty seven dollars.
Speaking of Toni&Guy...a bunch of us who work there went out on Saturday night to mourn Francesco's leaving. That's right, I said leaving. As in leaving. As in going away. For a while. And while it's true that he'll come back eventually, it's only for like 6 days until he flies on home to Italy; a fact I would be way angrier/more upset about had he not given me his Italian espresso maker as a parting gift. That's not to say I wasn't upset at all, but it's been pretty hard for me to express any kind of emotion since they cancelled Prison Break. Being dead on the inside will do that to you. Still. I'll miss you, Frisky Dingo. And not just because of the free haircuts.
...
Although that's mostly it.
Speaking of men who'll be missed, let's talk about The Navy Man and his little going away party. Apparently all the men in my life have met and decided that this week it might be amusing to pack up their lives in Sydney and abandon me for four months. And yes, by 'all the men in my life' what I really mean is 'Francesco and The Navy Man'.
But still! Considering I spend 70% of my life at work, 15% in an assortment of coffee shops, 9% in the company of Navy Man himself and the rest of the time in bed, those are all the men in my life. And they're BOTH leaving, in the SAME week? What, did they plan it? It's times like this that I really find myself wishing I was Sabrina The Teenage Witch and harboured the ability to build a date out of playdoh and magic. I also think it'd be quite cool to have a talking cat.
The one positive that comes out of all this though, is that by NM leaving for four months, it gives me a chance to become as much of a Dr Who nerd as he is. Not that I am super-enthusiastic about the sci-fi genre, but I'm already almost comically terrible in the girlfriend department - and while The Navy Man is very good about ignoring this, my lack of Dr Who knowledge is a constant source of disappointment for him. I can tell:
Jacki: So the Doctor changes his face sometimes?
NM: Well...kind of. Yes. Lets just say so, because it's the simplest explanation.
Jacki: So the current Doctor is the one who was in the weeping angels episode?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was David Tennant?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was the one with the leather jacket?
NM: (trying not to laugh) Yes.
Jacki: Well I hate the leather-jacket Doctor.
PAUSE
Jacki: I just...because he thinks he can pull off the leather jacket.
PAUSE
Jacki: Which he can't.
LONG PAUSE
Jacki: And he's also old.
LONGER PAUSE
Jacki: And old people freak me out.
LONGEST PAUSE
Jacki: So yeah...that's...that pretty much sums up my reasons for...not...liking him.
THE LONGEST PAUSE YET
NM: I feel really sorry for you.
Well, whatever! I was right. He couldn't pull off that leather jacket, and I don't even feel bad saying it. Although that's mostly because The Navy Man hardly ever reads this blog, and even if he did, I'm pretty sure it's still impossible to punch someone in the face via The Internet. If in 5 years you see me walking down the street with an inexplicable bruise on my face, you'll know what happened. But until then, I feel pretty safe. Nevertheless, I'm seriously toying with the idea of quitting work altogether and just spending the next four months in front of the TV watching Dr Who. Perhaps I will take the occasional break to read about Dr Who, or play with my Dr Who figurines. If they invent a Dr Who cereal, I'm sure I will eat it for breakfast. And by the time Navy Man returns from his adventures at sea, I won't just know everything about Dr Who, I will BE Dr Who.
And then he'll HAVE to agree with me about the leather jacket.
Apart from last Sunday, that is.
But still! Gmail? Really? And here's how I know: every new client that comes into Toni&Guy has to fill out a personal detail questionnaire. I, being the lowly assistant-who-isn't-really-an-assistant-on-account-of-the-fact-that-she's-openly-looking-for-another-job, get the wonderful task of entering all these details into the computer. And I don't wanna make it seem like the kind of loser who stands around counting the number of gmail users VS the number of hotmail users...but lets just say if I had a dollar for every gmail address I've typed, I'd have eight hundred and twenty seven dollars.
Speaking of Toni&Guy...a bunch of us who work there went out on Saturday night to mourn Francesco's leaving. That's right, I said leaving. As in leaving. As in going away. For a while. And while it's true that he'll come back eventually, it's only for like 6 days until he flies on home to Italy; a fact I would be way angrier/more upset about had he not given me his Italian espresso maker as a parting gift. That's not to say I wasn't upset at all, but it's been pretty hard for me to express any kind of emotion since they cancelled Prison Break. Being dead on the inside will do that to you. Still. I'll miss you, Frisky Dingo. And not just because of the free haircuts.
...
Although that's mostly it.
Speaking of men who'll be missed, let's talk about The Navy Man and his little going away party. Apparently all the men in my life have met and decided that this week it might be amusing to pack up their lives in Sydney and abandon me for four months. And yes, by 'all the men in my life' what I really mean is 'Francesco and The Navy Man'.
But still! Considering I spend 70% of my life at work, 15% in an assortment of coffee shops, 9% in the company of Navy Man himself and the rest of the time in bed, those are all the men in my life. And they're BOTH leaving, in the SAME week? What, did they plan it? It's times like this that I really find myself wishing I was Sabrina The Teenage Witch and harboured the ability to build a date out of playdoh and magic. I also think it'd be quite cool to have a talking cat.
The one positive that comes out of all this though, is that by NM leaving for four months, it gives me a chance to become as much of a Dr Who nerd as he is. Not that I am super-enthusiastic about the sci-fi genre, but I'm already almost comically terrible in the girlfriend department - and while The Navy Man is very good about ignoring this, my lack of Dr Who knowledge is a constant source of disappointment for him. I can tell:
Jacki: So the Doctor changes his face sometimes?
NM: Well...kind of. Yes. Lets just say so, because it's the simplest explanation.
Jacki: So the current Doctor is the one who was in the weeping angels episode?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was David Tennant?
NM: Yes.
Jacki: And the Doctor before that was the one with the leather jacket?
NM: (trying not to laugh) Yes.
Jacki: Well I hate the leather-jacket Doctor.
PAUSE
Jacki: I just...because he thinks he can pull off the leather jacket.
PAUSE
Jacki: Which he can't.
LONG PAUSE
Jacki: And he's also old.
LONGER PAUSE
Jacki: And old people freak me out.
LONGEST PAUSE
Jacki: So yeah...that's...that pretty much sums up my reasons for...not...liking him.
THE LONGEST PAUSE YET
NM: I feel really sorry for you.
Well, whatever! I was right. He couldn't pull off that leather jacket, and I don't even feel bad saying it. Although that's mostly because The Navy Man hardly ever reads this blog, and even if he did, I'm pretty sure it's still impossible to punch someone in the face via The Internet. If in 5 years you see me walking down the street with an inexplicable bruise on my face, you'll know what happened. But until then, I feel pretty safe. Nevertheless, I'm seriously toying with the idea of quitting work altogether and just spending the next four months in front of the TV watching Dr Who. Perhaps I will take the occasional break to read about Dr Who, or play with my Dr Who figurines. If they invent a Dr Who cereal, I'm sure I will eat it for breakfast. And by the time Navy Man returns from his adventures at sea, I won't just know everything about Dr Who, I will BE Dr Who.
And then he'll HAVE to agree with me about the leather jacket.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Happy Birthday Catherine! 22 Years Young!
Well well well, what have we here?
Long time no blog, my friends.
Long.
Time.
No.
Blog.
So, is it just me, or is this 'election' mess fast becoming the most annoying news topic on the planet? Julia Gillard, Tony Abbott, Jacki Trew...who cares? Just pick one already! I'm kidding about the Jacki Trew part of course. No, I am not in the running to become the next Prime Minister of Australia. Not this year, anyway. But come 2013...
What really bugs me about the whole situation is that this was the first time I'd voted. Like, ever. And sure, I had no idea what I was doing and thus may or may not have spend an extra seven minutes in the poll booth trying to decide whether voting for the Communist Party as a joke was actually funny or just plain stupid, but still. If there's a worse way to lose your Voting Virginity than this, I don't know about it.
Right. Well, that's about all I've got to say for tonight, except for that I'm watching the third Lord Of The Rings movie right now, and boy is Gollum/Smeagol a total asshole or what? There's only one bigger asshole than Gollum in this movie, and that's the giant cave-dwelling spider who tries to eat Frodo. Then again, maybe not. After all, it's a giant fucking spider that lives in a cave. If it didn't try to eat someone, it'd just be weird.
Speaking of giant fucking spiders who live in caves, it's my big sister Catherine's birthday today. I'll write more late, but for now I'll leave it at Happy Birthday, Catherine! 22 years young! May your cave remain comfortable and your fangs venemous. And please don't eat me.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Catherine's Birthday Blog - Part Two
"Alcoholics In Training"
Maybe the term 'alcoholic' is a little strong, but it's fair to say that my sister and I come from a long line of enthusiastic drinkers. One of my earliest memories is of a family Christmas party during which my Uncle John handed everyone their presents from under the tree upon arrival, then got drunk and proceeded to accuse us all of "stealing his shit". I'm sorry, did I say earliest memory? I think what I meant to say was fondest.
Despite this however, I've only witnessed the phenomenon that is Drunk Catherine Trew around 3 times in my life. And 2 out of those 3 times, I myself was intoxicated enough for her to actually appear sober.
But while I've never really experienced it myself, I've certainly heard stories. Stories about Malaysian night clubs, about lost hotel room keys, about walking home from the beach at 3:30 in the morning...one of my favourites involves our front yard, Catherine, and a 24-pack of passionfruit flavoured UDL. Use your imaginations people, because I'm not allowed to retell that one here.
Our parents are engaged in a fairly benevolent relationship with The Wine Society, which neither Catherine or I have inherited. In fact, as far as alcohol is concerned, we couldn't be more different - she being a beer/mixer/rum-and-coke kind of girl, and me being pretty much unreceptive of anything that isn't served in a shotglass with salt on the rim. Nevertheless, this hasn't stopped her from attempting to further my education in the field of drinking. And I have to admit, she's given me some fairly sound advice...like, that blueberry-flavoured Pulse is not acceptable once you pass the age of 18. That red wine and diet coke are two substances which should NEVER be mixed. And that despite having the word 'gay' in it's name, Mount Gay rum is not going to result in a better night than any other label of rum on the market.
Except of course, for Bundaberg, which everyone knows tastes like shit.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Men Are From Mars, Women Are Confused
Jacki: So you got a new laptop.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: That's pretty fancy.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: What's her name?
Navy Man: Wha...I don't know.
Jacki: You mean you're not going to name her?
Navy Man: Why would I?
Jacki: So you have something to yell out when she malfunctions, of course.
Navy Man: I'll just call her 'Navy Man's PC' - that way she's mine, and she can't cheat on me.
Jacki: Oh, she wouldn't cheat on you. She loves you.
Navy Man: Yeah, plus she's a filthy whore that no other man would take.
(pause)
Jacki: Okay, I was using the computer as a metaphor for, you know, me. Please tell me you weren't.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: That's pretty fancy.
Navy Man: Yep.
Jacki: What's her name?
Navy Man: Wha...I don't know.
Jacki: You mean you're not going to name her?
Navy Man: Why would I?
Jacki: So you have something to yell out when she malfunctions, of course.
Navy Man: I'll just call her 'Navy Man's PC' - that way she's mine, and she can't cheat on me.
Jacki: Oh, she wouldn't cheat on you. She loves you.
Navy Man: Yeah, plus she's a filthy whore that no other man would take.
(pause)
Jacki: Okay, I was using the computer as a metaphor for, you know, me. Please tell me you weren't.
Catherine's Birthday Blog - Part One
"Love You To Death"
Like any pair of self-respecting sisters, Catherine and I have tried to kill each other on several occasions. The first attempt (that I am aware of) involved a then-5-year-old Catherine feeding me a chocolate biscuit which contained enough crushed peanuts to bring down Mickey Rourke. Assuming, of course, that Mickey Rourke is (like me) allergic to to peanuts. He probably isnt, but since I've already blogged about that particular incident, I'm not going to go on about it.
Over the next few years, Catherine would attempt a number of homicides, all of which shared a common theme of "my little sister is deathly allergic to nuts, and it would be too bloody easy to take advantage".
Really, Catherine?
Really?
To be honest, I wasn't so much annoyed by the fact that she was repeatedly trying to end my life as I was disgusted by the unoriginality with which she was going about it. And I'm allowed to say that - because the last big fight I remember involved me throwing a full-sized watermelon at her head.
Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that we don't love each other. Because of course we DO - it's just a different KIND of love. You know, like, less in the way that we actually love each other, and more in the way that it's convenient to know someone you can always borrow money from. I've also never met another person with whom I am so eye-to-eye on the whole Team Edward VS Team Jacob thing. There are some bonds which run even deeper than blood, and I'm fairly certain that's one of them.
We're also united by a penchant for bad movies and mint flavoured icecream, and by the theory that when it comes to the electing of our nation's next leader, it's always best to just vote for whichever candidate has the most amusing surname.
Don't tell our parents.
That Guy I Used To Have A Massive Crush On
Holy crap, you guys. I know it's not in my usual style to blog about celebrities who aren't That Guy I Used To Have A Massive Crush On, but look what Hermione Granger did to her hair:
Wowza. I'm half shocked, half impressed, half concerned that her neighbours and husband are planning on force-feeding her some herbal concoction that'll cause her to give birth to the spawn of satan. Not as concerned as I am about my own mathematical skills, but still.
Wowza. I'm half shocked, half impressed, half concerned that her neighbours and husband are planning on force-feeding her some herbal concoction that'll cause her to give birth to the spawn of satan. Not as concerned as I am about my own mathematical skills, but still. I'm not a huge fan of super-short hair, but I'm probably prejudiced on account of my own experience with it. After all, you don't spend the better part of 2 years looking like Richard Simmon's less-attractive sister without forming some sort of biased opinion. But she looks good. Like the love child of Twiggy and Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. Only without the satanic undertones. So kudos, Hermione, on the new haircut. And sorry about not knowing your actual name.
In other news, since I have a day off and a couple of spare minutes, I've been thinking about giving my blog a makeover. Yeah. It was either that or give myself a makeover - but since sometimes you just have to look at a situation and realise that it's not going to get any better, my blog won out. Suggestions?
So, maybe this is your first time at www.jackiiscrazy.blogspot.com, or maybe you just haven't been listening. Either way - if that's the case, you won't know much about this little lady:
(Don't worry, that cat had given it's full consent before the picture was taken). The lady in question is Catherine Elizabeth Trew, aka My Older Sister. Or to be more specific, My Older Sister who happens to be turning 22 later this month. And while I could have gone the traditional route and gotten her a book or a DVD or an 'I Heart Big Sister' charm for her Pandora bracelet, I decided on a birthday present that's much more meaningful: a 3-part blog in which I expose all her secrets and post photos of her dancing naked on our back veranda.
I'm kidding about the secrets and the naked thing of course, but the blog will be real. And almost semi-amusing. And I will more likely than not recieve a punch in the face for writing it. But since there's more to Catherine Trew than just the 20-something-year-old who hates broccoli and likes reading non-fiction and has a weirdly sexual relationship with our pet cat, I feel compelled to tell her story. Or at least, a small portion of it.
Coming soon!
Sunday, August 08, 2010
And So The ReviewEE Becomes The ReviewER
Is anyone else here enough of a pathetic weirdo to read the comments on their own blog?
...
No? Just me?
Well alright then.
Still. Regardless of whether or not it makes me look like the kind of idiot who trolls their own website, this recent one caught my eye:
Talk trash about me all you want, buddy, but bad-mouthing Kylie Minogue? You just lost the respect of not only me, but at least half the gay population of Planet Earth. AND Julia Hirst. Oh, and since you asked so nicely, it's 2010 - the tenth year in a decade during which Kylie staged a comeback, performed on four world tours, beat breast cancer and sold over 68 million records. Basically, Scorpio? If Kylie Minogue had a penis, she would probably be requesting that you suck on it right now.
Now, where was I?
After he'd finished chanelling his intense but inexplicable hate of the world through my blog, and offered to do humanity a service by 'hopping a flight to Sydney, tracking me down and kicking the teeth out of my head', Mr Woperchild seemed to run out of steam. That's when he offered me this tiny gift:
At some point along the way she found a voice. Sure, that voice talks way too much about things I don’t give a rat’s ass about – reality TV, actors over whom she is swooning, being a semi-responsible adult, etc. – but it is still an amusing voice at times. A slightly skewed perspective on her life, which is pretty normal and ordinary, and that skewed perspective takes the boring and mundane and makes it somewhat worth reading about.
Ahhh, that's better. There's nothing like a scathingly backhanded almost-compliment to make you feel good about yourself. I am kidding of course - that last paragraph made me cry into my cereal this morning. But it's not all bad news. Because if you happen to head over to Ask And You Shall Recieve and peruse my little critique yourself, you'll see that the post in specific which Scorpio Woperchild finds amusing? Just happens to be the one about dolphins and the fact that they gang-rape each other. And any freak of the week who could picture that kind of horror and still laugh is obviously not worth listening to.
So thanks for the advice, Scorpio, really. But I think I'm in the same boat as Kylie Minogue now.
...
No? Just me?
Well alright then.
Still. Regardless of whether or not it makes me look like the kind of idiot who trolls their own website, this recent one caught my eye:
Now, I don't know who this Scorpio Woperchild is, nor do I recall asking for a review, nor can I fathom the idea that there are people - fully grown, adult people - out there who have enough time to sit and type and cast judgement on the insane rantings of a 20-year-old girl from Australia...but there's no such thing as bad publicity, right? So I took a wander over to Ask And You Shall Recieve, and read my review.
In hindsight, it wasn't such a great idea. And by 'wasn't such a great', what I really mean is 'was a pretty fucking stupid'. The URL of this website alone should have been enough of a clue. Let's just say it's a good thing I already know how much of a moron I am, AND that I have enough self-confidence to ignore the opinions of a man who apparently thinks of himself as a character from Harry Potter. It's also pretty convenient that I'm currently in the market for a new asshole - because Mr 'Scorpio Woperchild' tore me one alright. Check it out:
For starters, Jacki Trew’s delightful little blog is titled "Insanity Now Has a Website" and the URL is JackiIsCrazy.blogspot.com. When you are 15 years old, calling yourself CRAZY or INSANE feels like a logical choice. You feel like you don’t fit in. You feel weird all the time. Maybe you’re moody. Maybe you’re filled with rage. Maybe you are really unpredictable. And yeah, that feels pretty crazy at the time.
But then months pass and soon you realize that this is normal – everyone feels this way – and you are no more crazy than the next very average student treading the halls of your school. And by the time you’re 16 or so, you no longer think it’s cool to call yourself Crazy or Insane.
Insanity Now Has a Website? I don't fucking think so.
Yeah. Ouch.
He then goes on to berate my constant use of the term 'insanity' and it's many variations - crazy, weird, off-my-fucking-nut, etc etc - my colour scheme, my obsession with reality tv, and the fact that I insist on having autoplay music in my sidebar.
Which is all fine.
Or at least, it WAS. Until this happened:
Talk trash about me all you want, buddy, but bad-mouthing Kylie Minogue? You just lost the respect of not only me, but at least half the gay population of Planet Earth. AND Julia Hirst. Oh, and since you asked so nicely, it's 2010 - the tenth year in a decade during which Kylie staged a comeback, performed on four world tours, beat breast cancer and sold over 68 million records. Basically, Scorpio? If Kylie Minogue had a penis, she would probably be requesting that you suck on it right now.
Now, where was I?
After he'd finished chanelling his intense but inexplicable hate of the world through my blog, and offered to do humanity a service by 'hopping a flight to Sydney, tracking me down and kicking the teeth out of my head', Mr Woperchild seemed to run out of steam. That's when he offered me this tiny gift:
At some point along the way she found a voice. Sure, that voice talks way too much about things I don’t give a rat’s ass about – reality TV, actors over whom she is swooning, being a semi-responsible adult, etc. – but it is still an amusing voice at times. A slightly skewed perspective on her life, which is pretty normal and ordinary, and that skewed perspective takes the boring and mundane and makes it somewhat worth reading about.
Ahhh, that's better. There's nothing like a scathingly backhanded almost-compliment to make you feel good about yourself. I am kidding of course - that last paragraph made me cry into my cereal this morning. But it's not all bad news. Because if you happen to head over to Ask And You Shall Recieve and peruse my little critique yourself, you'll see that the post in specific which Scorpio Woperchild finds amusing? Just happens to be the one about dolphins and the fact that they gang-rape each other. And any freak of the week who could picture that kind of horror and still laugh is obviously not worth listening to.
So thanks for the advice, Scorpio, really. But I think I'm in the same boat as Kylie Minogue now.
Australia's Next Top Employee
I've got pretty much nothing this week.
My search for a new job continues. I mean, Jane and I did make a late-night decision to start a bohemian tea-house where people can come and eat and play music and make art and not wear shoes and drink alcohol after dark...but still. It's always nice to have a backup plan which DOESN'T involve bankruptcy. Just in case. I also have a feeling that only hiring our friends and then paying them with 'love' might be illegal.
I sometimes get the feeling that I might have fared better in the 1940's. No, the 50's. 60's? Well, whatever decade it was when the title 'successful woman' had only two prerequisites:
1) The ability to bake a perfect mud cake, and
2) A vagina
I can bake. I'm a great baker. And I've got a vagina. And - as evidenced by a string of genital-themed birthday cakes my friends and I enjoyed in our final year of high school - I'm not afraid to combine the two. Were this the 1950's, I'd be Prime Minister by now. As it is, however, I'm just a TEMPORARILY employed salon assistant who gets paid 6 bucks an hour to sweep up hair. And while it helps to have friends, family and a somewhat delusional officer of the Australian Navy around to make suggestions, it doesn't help when they make suggestions like this:
And he'll totally believe you.
My search for a new job continues. I mean, Jane and I did make a late-night decision to start a bohemian tea-house where people can come and eat and play music and make art and not wear shoes and drink alcohol after dark...but still. It's always nice to have a backup plan which DOESN'T involve bankruptcy. Just in case. I also have a feeling that only hiring our friends and then paying them with 'love' might be illegal.
I sometimes get the feeling that I might have fared better in the 1940's. No, the 50's. 60's? Well, whatever decade it was when the title 'successful woman' had only two prerequisites:
1) The ability to bake a perfect mud cake, and
2) A vagina
I can bake. I'm a great baker. And I've got a vagina. And - as evidenced by a string of genital-themed birthday cakes my friends and I enjoyed in our final year of high school - I'm not afraid to combine the two. Were this the 1950's, I'd be Prime Minister by now. As it is, however, I'm just a TEMPORARILY employed salon assistant who gets paid 6 bucks an hour to sweep up hair. And while it helps to have friends, family and a somewhat delusional officer of the Australian Navy around to make suggestions, it doesn't help when they make suggestions like this:
"Maybe you should just be a street urchin. You know, sit on your ass and do nothing all day - you're great at that."
I know. Thanks alot, Dad. I love you too.
Speaking of things I'm great at...oh, you know what? That segue doesn't really apply, since what I wanted to talk about next was driving. And while the lovely Julia Hirst is adamant that I possess excellent driving skills, others disagree. And Julia is lying. Here's what happened last night:
The Navy Man wanted to take me for dinner with his friend Doug, and Doug's girlfriend Kara. Since Doug and Kara didn't have a car between them, we let them pick the venue; Stanley St in Darlinghurst, for those of you playing at home. As for us? Well, since NM wasn't feeling 100% and I had just suffered through the kind of day at work for which the phrase 'hell on earth' was invented, it was decided that he would drive my car, while I navigated/drank my body weight in tequila.
MISTAKE NUMBER 1.
I don't remember who's idea it was to rely solely on the directing skills of my iPhone and google maps, but it was a bad one. It took approximately 11 minutes to get from this:
"Dude, I TOTALLY know how to get there."
To this:
"Okay, we're a little off track, but we're not lost, we're DEFINITELY not lost."
And then eventually to this:
"Yeah, we're fucked."
Oh yes.
I think my favourite part - aside from the sudden realisation that I am without a doubt the most useless human being on the planet - was the traffic jam that I inadvertantly caused us to sit in for almost 25 minutes. Especially since the term 'traffic jam' just happens to be at the very top of one of Navy Man's lists; a list so appropriately titled "Things Which Send Navy Man Into A White Hot Frenzy Of Rage". I now know how to say the word 'shit' in 11 different languages.
Still. So maybe we were 45 minutes late, maybe I made myself look like an idiot, maybe I've given The Navy Man something to hold over my head for the rest of our lives, but still. It could have been alot worse...Because I've discovered something great about having a boyfriend from out-of-town, and that's that when you and your shitty navigational skills end up on the Eastern Distributor heading for the airport, you can just say stuff like this:
Jacki: Well, we're near Maroubra. That's not far away at all!And he'll totally believe you.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Hire Me!
You guys, Lane Cove is actually insane.
I'm not kidding! It's crazy! And I can't believe it's taken me this long to notice!! I guess it's just one of those things - you never notice that the suburb you live in is like one big out-patient mental hospital until you get a job in a hairdresser on the main street and spend half your days staring through the front window at all the freaks walking past.
Yesterday, for example, I saw a woman sitting outside the cafe next door eating cereal out of a red tupperware container. That in itself is an oddity, but the weirdest part was actually HOW she was eating the cereal, and that was in a manner that I can only describe as furious. It was like she was angry at the cereal. Not just the cereal - it was like she was angry at the WORLD. At one point she accidentally spilled some milk on herself, and I swear to God I thought she was going to turn around and punch the guy behind her in the windpipe. It was mesmerising. I don't know how many phonecalls went unanswered as I stood there with bated breath, just waiting for this woman to pull out a machete and stab everyone within reach. But I'm guessing it was alot.
I'm terrible at my job.
Speaking of being terrible at my job...four or five more weeks and I'm going to have to find something else to be terrible at. And just for the record, I wasn't fired. It's not that I don't love Toni&Guy, it's just that I'm pretty useless at everything I do. And while there are some jobs that it's okay to be useless at, it turns out that 'hairdresser' just isn't one of them. People tend to notice when you accidentally-on-purpose shave the words peace, love, disco into the hair on the back of their head. And by 'notice' what I really mean is 'totally freak out'. But whatever. Aside from that little mishap, and the whole neglecting-work-in-order-to-stare-at-crazy-people-eating-cereal-at-the-cafe-next-door thing, AND the fact that I was late for our last staff meeting because I was watching an episode of The Real Housewives of NYC and didn't want to miss the end, I must have done SOMETHING right, because they're letting me stay until I find a new job. Isn't that nice?
So the downside is that - once again - I'm jobless, broke, have no talents or direction to speak of, I'm almost 100% unqualified and I owe my parents two thousand dollars. But the UPside is...
Aw, crap.
Still. I'm not worried. Well, maybe a little bit. Probably not as worried as I should be. Certainly not as worried as The Navy Man is. But it's all good. After all, if life and the cast of Laguna Beach has taught us anything, it's that even the biggest idiots on the planet are capable of finding a job. Also that I should probably stop basing my major life decisions on a mediocre reality show that ended 4 years ago. But mainly the first thing.
Hire me!
I'm not kidding! It's crazy! And I can't believe it's taken me this long to notice!! I guess it's just one of those things - you never notice that the suburb you live in is like one big out-patient mental hospital until you get a job in a hairdresser on the main street and spend half your days staring through the front window at all the freaks walking past.
Yesterday, for example, I saw a woman sitting outside the cafe next door eating cereal out of a red tupperware container. That in itself is an oddity, but the weirdest part was actually HOW she was eating the cereal, and that was in a manner that I can only describe as furious. It was like she was angry at the cereal. Not just the cereal - it was like she was angry at the WORLD. At one point she accidentally spilled some milk on herself, and I swear to God I thought she was going to turn around and punch the guy behind her in the windpipe. It was mesmerising. I don't know how many phonecalls went unanswered as I stood there with bated breath, just waiting for this woman to pull out a machete and stab everyone within reach. But I'm guessing it was alot.
I'm terrible at my job.
Speaking of being terrible at my job...four or five more weeks and I'm going to have to find something else to be terrible at. And just for the record, I wasn't fired. It's not that I don't love Toni&Guy, it's just that I'm pretty useless at everything I do. And while there are some jobs that it's okay to be useless at, it turns out that 'hairdresser' just isn't one of them. People tend to notice when you accidentally-on-purpose shave the words peace, love, disco into the hair on the back of their head. And by 'notice' what I really mean is 'totally freak out'. But whatever. Aside from that little mishap, and the whole neglecting-work-in-order-to-stare-at-crazy-people-eating-cereal-at-the-cafe-next-door thing, AND the fact that I was late for our last staff meeting because I was watching an episode of The Real Housewives of NYC and didn't want to miss the end, I must have done SOMETHING right, because they're letting me stay until I find a new job. Isn't that nice?
So the downside is that - once again - I'm jobless, broke, have no talents or direction to speak of, I'm almost 100% unqualified and I owe my parents two thousand dollars. But the UPside is...
Aw, crap.
Still. I'm not worried. Well, maybe a little bit. Probably not as worried as I should be. Certainly not as worried as The Navy Man is. But it's all good. After all, if life and the cast of Laguna Beach has taught us anything, it's that even the biggest idiots on the planet are capable of finding a job. Also that I should probably stop basing my major life decisions on a mediocre reality show that ended 4 years ago. But mainly the first thing.
Hire me!
Sunday, August 01, 2010
TV, Mel, Pie Charts And My Ability To Love
I am simultaneously amused and horrified by my own addiction to reality TV. I mean on the one hand, when I find myself awake at 2:30 in the morning just so I can tune into the E! Channel and find out whether or not Kim Kardashian's sister will get back together with whatever-his-name-is, I have to question my own sanity. Kim Kardashian's sister? Whatever-his-name-is? How much do I really need to know about these people? It's a sick and twisted comment on society that we spend more time watching other people live their lives than we do actually living our own. Not to mention the fact that the only reason people like the Kardashians are famous is because of their money. And/or their giant asses. Really, when I think about it, I should be ashamed of myself for wasting my time with this crap.
Mum: Have you been working out?
On the other hand though...reality TV is fucking awesome.
Have you guys seen this show Pretty Wild? Oh my goodness. I have no clue who these people are, nor why they're famous, NOR whose insane idea it was to give them their own show (by the way whoever-you-are, I thank you from the bottom of my blackened heart)...but I can say with almost complete sincerety that I have never been more entertained/disgusted by three teenage Hollywood brats and their crazy new-age mother in my life. Why? Well, here's a sample conversation between Mum and Daughter Number One:
Mum: Have you been working out?
Daughter Number One: Yeah! I've been working out alot, and dancing.
Mum: You look amazing.
Daughter Number One: Thanks!
Mum: And no one has breasts like you.
Daughter Number One: Thanks!
(Pause)
Mum: Wanna take some naked photographs?
Mum: Wanna take some naked photographs?
When I first saw that episode, I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. In the end I decided to go with a combination of all three. It was unfortunate. Still, you have to admit that conversation is pretty hilarious. Disturbing, yes. Illegal, almost certainly. But hilarious.
On a completely different note, last night I attended the 21st birthday of a very special lady who goes by the name of Mel Amon. Happy belated birthday, Mel! And I love you, even more than I love reality TV.
See? Because if you can't trust a pie chart I made using the 'Kids Zone' website, what the hell can you trust?
Why, Universe? Why?
So I just painted my nails green.
That's a pretty boring thing to say - especially if you consider the fact that not 10 posts ago I was talking about animals and the possibility that they engage in anal sex - but it's Sunday, the day of rest, and I'm tired. If you have a problem with this, I invite you to kiss my ass.
Speaking of asses...I've got a pain in mine, since my computer has decided to quit functioning normally and will now only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time. Really. I think I've probably got about 80 seconds to finish writing this post. It's so convenient. The real kicker is that this isn't even my computer - it's Catherine's. When she bought a new laptop, she gave me her old one. Why? Because mine had decided to quit functioning normally and would only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time.
...
Okay.
WHY, UNIVERSE? WHY? WHY ARE YOU SO DETERMINED TO KICK ME IN THE VAGINA?
Is this just it? Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by poorly-performing electrical equipment? Because I'm not just talking about the computers. Let's not forget the 2 hair straighteners, the 4 mobile phones, the curling iron, the DVD player, the electric nail drier, the sandwich maker, the shower radio or any of the countless iPods I went through in high school. Plus there's that whole thing that happened with my iPhone last month. This can't just be me. This has to have something to do with a higher power trying to piss me off, right? I can't be that much of a careless idiot, can I?
Don't answer that.
That's a pretty boring thing to say - especially if you consider the fact that not 10 posts ago I was talking about animals and the possibility that they engage in anal sex - but it's Sunday, the day of rest, and I'm tired. If you have a problem with this, I invite you to kiss my ass.
Speaking of asses...I've got a pain in mine, since my computer has decided to quit functioning normally and will now only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time. Really. I think I've probably got about 80 seconds to finish writing this post. It's so convenient. The real kicker is that this isn't even my computer - it's Catherine's. When she bought a new laptop, she gave me her old one. Why? Because mine had decided to quit functioning normally and would only turn on for around 7 minutes at a time.
...
Okay.
WHY, UNIVERSE? WHY? WHY ARE YOU SO DETERMINED TO KICK ME IN THE VAGINA?
Is this just it? Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by poorly-performing electrical equipment? Because I'm not just talking about the computers. Let's not forget the 2 hair straighteners, the 4 mobile phones, the curling iron, the DVD player, the electric nail drier, the sandwich maker, the shower radio or any of the countless iPods I went through in high school. Plus there's that whole thing that happened with my iPhone last month. This can't just be me. This has to have something to do with a higher power trying to piss me off, right? I can't be that much of a careless idiot, can I?
Don't answer that.
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